


Mrs. Clean

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Humor, M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-14
Updated: 2009-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 22:17:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal





	Mrs. Clean

"House is a mess," Pete called out as he sailed past the door to Patrick's tiny home-studio. Patrick grunted and continued his work.

"Sink's full of dishes," Pete yelled from downstairs.

"Hey, I have an idea," Patrick yelled back. "How about you fucking _wash_ them?"

"Wow, this shelf is super-dusty," Pete observed, peering at the shelf in question; it happened to be situated right over Patrick's head, so Pete was leaning over him, hands pressing into the top of Patrick's swivel chair so that it rocked back dangerously. "Jeez."

"Could you fucking relax?" Patrick snapped and craned his head around to glare up at Pete. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"You got me pregnant from all the sex," Pete deadpanned. "And now I'm nesting, man."

"Oh my god," Patrick replied in the same tone. "How do I know the baby is mine?"

Pete wrinkled his nose and sniffed disdainfully at Patrick. "All I'm saying, is that the house here needs a super good clean."

"We could pay a cleaning service," Patrick suggested, "and here's the part I like. We wouldn't have to do it ourselves."

Pete considered this for about four seconds, and then shook his head quickly. "No. I seriously don't want any strangers in here. So we're gonna get this place clean."

Patrick nodded in agreement. Four minutes later, he slipped out of the house and escaped to the mall.

*

He expected a big argument when he returned home. What he did _not_ expect was Pete to meet him in the foyer, dressed in that French maid costume he'd worn laughingly last Halloween, the Swiffer clenched tightly in one hand.

"Allo, Monsieur Stump," Pete said in the _worst_ French accent known to man. "You are home early, no?"

"Uh," Patrick said very succinctly. He eyed the white ruffles of the built-in petticoat, Pete's legs strong and golden beneath that. He didn't have on the knee-socks, though.

"Oui, oui. I was just cleaning ze 'ouse, is there anything else?" Pete fluttered dark lashes at him. He had on the guyliner too, that hadn't been out in a long time. He was bringing out the big guns; he _knew_ Patrick liked the way it made his eyes seem larger and more brown.

"Well. You could... clean something on me?" Patrick suggested, leaning against the wall. Pete affected a scandalized pose, fingers of one hand tented against the black silky material on his chest.

" _On_ you! Oh, no, zat is not allowed!" He turned and flounced off. Patrick stared at his ass and then chased him down. He tackled him in the living room, which was just as untidy as the rest of the house. Pete squealed as they went down and struggled with Patrick, albeit weakly. Patrick managed to straddle him on the carpet and pin his wrists over his head, riding out Pete's bucking.

"Mr. Stump!" Pete cried plaintively and Patrick bit his lip, his dick taking deep interest in current events. "Oh, monsieur, I will do anything, please let me go."

"What is anything?"

Pete went still, his eyes closed. "I will. Put your, how do you say, your cock in my mouth. I will do that, sir."

Wow, Patrick had not been aware that he could move that fast, but he scrambled up and plunked himself down on the sofa, nearly missing it completely in his eagerness. He was opening his jeans and watching Pete sit up at the same time. Pete fussily tugged the top of his outfit and adjusted the little white apron. Then he got to his hands and knees, crawling towards Patrick.

Patrick stared down at him as he kneeled between Patrick's legs, hands folded demurely in his lap. Pete gave him a very long gaze and licked his lips. Then he sat up and touched Patrick's cock still hidden under the layer of underwear. Leaning forward, he mouthed at it and Patrick said, "Holy shit."

"Monsieur," Pete whispered against Patrick's throbbing dick. "Monsieur, the house is so messy. I want you to help me clean it."

"Oh fuck, you fucking--" Patrick choked out and Pete did nothing but purse his lips and send a hot exhale over Patrick's cock. "Ngh, oh, shit."

"Sir," Pete purred, and he lost that breathy, horrible French accent. "Patrick."

"Fine, fuck!" Patrick said irritably and rocked his hips up near Pete's face; Pete, that astoundingly irritating _shithead_ , simply moved his head away. "I will help you clean," Patrick said, enunciating through clenched teeth.

"Great." Pete sprawled back on the floor, up on his elbows with his legs spread wide. Patrick blinked at his face, just about to call him a fucking tease, and Pete looked meaningfully down his own body. Patrick tracked his gaze and his mind went a little blank, because there... there was a dildo snug in Pete's ass.

Patrick slid off the sofa and fell upon him, grasping onto the slick handle and twisting it. Pete gasped and wriggled, but Patrick placed a hand in the center of his chest, working the dildo in and out. Then he slid it out completely with a faint squelching sound and replaced it with his own dick, a long relentless slide inside him, dragging Pete's legs up to wrap around his waist.

"Ah fuck," Pete groaned and arched his back. The top of the maid's uniform slid down his chest, revealing dark nipples. Patrick took one between his teeth as he fucked into Pete's ready hole, running the tip of his tongue over it. He could feel his balls slapping against Pete's ass and the whisper of fabric under Pete's loud groans.

Patrick actually saw his vision white out as he came; the only thing he was aware of, for long moments, was the walls of Pete's ass tightening and fucking, like, having _spasms_ or whatever, around Patrick.

"I'll clean every day," Patrick wheezed as he collapsed beside Pete, who chuckled breathlessly. "Seriously. _Every fucking day_."

_fin_


End file.
